Moebius Man
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: SG1's attempt at meddling in time had more consequences than were at first apparent...
1. Moebius Man

**Title**: Moebius Man

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Category**: SG-1/Highlander

**Summary**: 2000 words. SG-1's attempt at meddling in time had more consequences than were at first apparent...

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: Stargate SG-1 through 8.20 "Moebius, Part II"; Highlander in general.

**Feedback**: It's the coin of the realm. 

**Notes**: I owe part of my inspiration for this to Sophie on the Crossgate list, whose "Moebius Revisted" drabble served as excellent plot-bunny nourishment.

* * *

CARTER: Didn't that tape say there were no fish in your pond?   
O'NEILL: Close enough.   
Moebius, Part II

* * *

Daniel stared down at the red line of parted flesh on his rescuer's palm, watching in disbelief as little flashes of electricity, like miniature zat'nik'atel blasts, sewed the wound back together.

"You're an Immortal," Melbourne said, patiently repeating himself. "So am I. We all start out mortal, like any other human, but after our first deaths everything changes. If you die, you'll come back, unless your head is cut off; if you're wounded, no matter how badly, you'll heal. If..."

Daniel shook his head, rubbing absently at the too-smooth skin exposed by the bullet hole in his favorite dress shirt. "I heard you the first time," he said, speaking a little too quickly, his words tumbling over themselves with impatience and frustration. "It's just that I don't believe you. I mean, it's all very well and good for you to say that you're my father, and that somehow you survived the museum disaster and have been in hiding all these years. It could very well be true. Though I don't understand why you wouldn't have come back for me then--I was eight years old, for Christ's sake, and after Nick declined to take me..."

He shook his head again, squelching the temptation to continue with that tangent. "But that's a topic for another time. The point is, stranger things have happened. Usually to me. I could suspend my disbelief that far. But this immortality thing? There's no way it could apply here. It just isn't possible; there's got to be some other explanation."

The elder archaeologist frowned. "Look, I know this must come as a shock. Most new Immortals have trouble accepting the idea that they were truly dead at all; it can take quite some time for the rest of the details to be fully absorbed. However, I must admit I had expected a more positive response from you."

In the three decades since a collapsing exhibit had stolen Daniel's parents from him he'd only heard their voices once, in the callously constructed virtual game world on P7J-989. They'd been so absorbed in what they were doing, so focused on their work, that they hadn't paid any attention to what he tried to tell them; the note of dismissive annoyance in his father's voice had been impossible to miss. He couldn't help but flash back on that experience now--the tone was exactly the same. This was Melbourne Jackson, all right. Clone, copy from an alternate universe, his actual father revived--Daniel didn't know how this man had come here, but he no longer doubted his stated identity, nor his conviction that what he was telling Daniel was the truth.

Sincere or not, however, the elder Jackson's explanation was still impossible. Daniel wasn't sure what _was_ going on--a hidden sarcophagus? Asgard intervention? Shi'fu watching out for him?--but there were a few aspects of his story that directly contradicted the evidence.

"That's just it," Daniel burst out, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's not a shock to me. Your being here, in fact, is much more of a shock than the idea that I was shot to death a few hours ago. Why? Because that was _not_ my first death. And I've never seen any evidence of this Quickening thing before, any of the times I've come back. No cessation of aging, no 'buzz', no quick healing--more's the pity--"

"Wait, wait," Melbourne cut him off, brows drawing together in a distressed frown as he processed what Daniel was saying. "You've died before? But that's not--This isn't the first time I've seen you this year, and you weren't Immortal until yesterday--"

"Several times." Daniel frowned, momentarily discomfited by the knowledge that someone, father or not, had been following him around without him noticing. Jack would not be pleased to hear that. If he ever got to tell him, that is--if Daniel wasn't forcibly removed from his previous life, as his father had apparently been taken from his. "I've been fatally shot twice before. The first time, I guess you'd call it my first death, happened more than nine years ago. The methods used to revive me then are still classified, of course, but we're not talking drowning here, or anything else that could be fixed with a little CPR. I was definitely dead."

He contemplated that a moment, ticking off the deaths on Abydos and the Nox homeworld on his fingers. "I'm pretty sure I was crushed to death in a rockfall once, though I might have just been fatally wounded; Shyla never said if I'd crossed the line or not, just that I wouldn't have survived." He wrinkled his nose at the reminder of his experience with sarcophagus addiction, and ticked off a third finger. That wasn't the only time he'd experienced death in close association with an addiction, either. "Mm, and I flat-lined at least once while in withdrawal from something unexpected I encountered on a dig.

"That's four so far," Daniel continued. "Then there's the time I dove in bare-handed to defuse a naq-, ah, a nuclear bomb; take it from me, radiation poisoning is a really unpleasant way to go." He shuddered. "And then a few months ago, I was run through the chest with a thick metal spear. I don't recommend that one either; it's much more painful than you'd expect." He'd relived that event several times in his nightmares since, all mixed up with images from the Terminator movies. If the films hadn't aired before the SGC had ever encountered the humanoid Replicators, he'd have been inclined to think that they had another Martin Lloyd out there, spilling secrets to the entertainment industry.

"So," he concluded, waggling six raised fingers in his father's direction, "that would make our little encounter with The Trust my _seventh_ death, unless this all turns out to be just an elaborate hoax on your part, which, frankly, would not surprise me either."

"Your--your _seventh_?" Melbourne spluttered. Daniel could not recall ever seeing such a flabbergasted expression on his father's face before; it seemed to be composed of equal parts shock, disbelief, and chagrin, as though the man could not decide whether to discard Daniel's count of woe as a fabrication, or castigate himself for not having been there when his son was so repeatedly abused. Daniel didn't blame him; he himself could not decide whether to be happy his father had returned, or suspicious of the man's motives, or angry at his abandonment, or...

Daniel clamped down on his turbulent emotions and raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for a more plausible explanation. He'd already given more detail than he should have; he didn't think the Air Force would forgive him if he started explaining the resurrective powers of a Goa'uld sarcophagus, or the rituals of the Nox, or his two brief forays into Ascenscion. Especially if it turned out that his gut instinct was wrong, and this too-youthful man standing before him wasn't his father after all.

They might have stood there, staring at each other, for the rest of the evening if a lazy, amused voice hadn't intruded then, from the doorway of the hotel suite's bedroom.

"You sound so surprised, Mel. Don't you remember the story? Dan'yel of Abydos, the only one of us to have died more times before crossing the threshold to Immortality than he did afterward."

Daniel gasped. "Adam?" He turned toward the sound of the voice, astonished to find another familiar face in the midst of this impossible situation, and stared at his old friend. Adam Pierson had attended the same graduate school with him for a time, and had been an entertaining, if somewhat intermittent, correspondent in the years since. "What are you doing here?"

Adam didn't answer his question, or even look at him; he was watching Daniel's father with a knowing expression, propping his lean frame against the doorjamb while he waited for the elder Jackson to respond.

Melbourne didn't disappoint. "But Dan'yel of Abydos was born more than five thousand years ago! You told me yourself, he spent his entire life in North Africa and died in the Third Punic War, millennia before I adopted my Daniel. What does his story have to do with my son?"

Daniel tensed at the repetition of his Abydonian name. He'd never used it himself; Sha'uri and her kin had been unable to pronounce his modern name properly, and had given him instead a near-equivalent in their Ancient Egyptian dialect. To his knowledge, no one on Earth had ever referred to him that way, not even in jest. Nor had he heard of any famous man by that name living in the historical, Tau'ri Abydos. What could they possibly...

Oh. Daniel swallowed, suddenly certain what Adam meant, and cleared his throat. "Uh, five thousand years ago? How exact is that figure?" It certainly fit the timeframe on that video footage they'd found...

Adam shook his head, a smirk curving his lips as he turned his attention to Daniel at last. "You know, I've been waiting for this day for years, since I was first introduced to you by Dr. Jordan and realized who you must be. Of course you're Immortal; this is just the first time you've been physically dead long enough to trigger it. At least, that's how you explained it last time, when I finally got you drunk enough between rebellions to talk about the life you'd led before."

"So, so, you're saying... some version of me actually did wind up in Ancient Egypt? And survived until the fall of _Carthage_?" The implications were astounding.

"Not that I believed you at the time," Adam acknowledged, laughing ruefully. "Running into your completely unaware, pre-Immortal self two millennia after I buried your corpse was something of a shock to my system."

"I'll bet," Daniel muttered. It was starting to sink in that he was actually standing in a hotel room with a man at least five thousand years of age, not to mention the father he'd thought he'd lost when he was eight years old. He was beginning to feel a little shocky himself. "So... this _isn't_ a hoax, then. Everything he said was true?"

He glanced back at Melbourne, and was unsurprised to see him looking as pale as Daniel felt. "Are you sure, Adam?" the older man asked. "What are you saying, he's going to find some time-travel device in the future?"

"Uh, I already did, actually," Daniel clarified, thinking quickly. "But apparently, my little trip to the past somehow negated the need for me to actually, ah, make the trip, hence my still being here--the explanation is very complicated, and involves a lot of alternate universe theory. I _never_ expected..." He let the sentence trail off, at a loss for words.

Adam glanced back and forth between the two Jackson men, still wearing an amused smirk. "You know, I think this calls for beer," he said. "And then perhaps a round of which came first, the teacher or the student? We can get into the details again tomorrow."

"You think _every_ occasion calls for beer." Melbourne rolled his eyes, though he seemed relieved at the suggestion.

"You certainly didn't learn _that_ from me," Daniel rallied, quirking a tired smile. Five thousand years of life--since the original rebellion against Ra, at the very least. And Adam had implied that Daniel had actually been his teacher--he couldn't imagine it. Except--

"Wait a minute," he said, perking up. "You lived through the Goa'uld occupation? And you met me during the rebellions?" He patted his pockets absently, then glanced around the room for paper, pen, anything-- "I have so many questions. Did I--did the other Dan'yel leave any other permanent record behind? What did I--"

Adam laughed again. "You know, if I had any questions left about your identity, that would have answered them. Still the same Dan'yel, no matter what century you're in."

(fin?)


	2. Desert Dreams

**Title**: Desert Dreams 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: SG-1/Highlander. He has awakened from death before, often enough that it has lost the element of surprise, but never has it been like this. 1200 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: Stargate SG-1 through 8.20 "Moebius, Part II"; Highlander in general.

**Notes**: This is a tag to"Moebius Man," set sometime during the summer between seasons 8 and 9. There will be more of this 'verse eventually, but I haven't seen enough of Methos yet to get a writer's feel for him, so it may be awhile.

* * *

The heat is the first thing he is aware of: sunlight like molten gold pouring down over his skin, stinging flesh rendered pale by genetics and long absence from his homeland. And yet this is not his homeland, not either homeland, not as he recalls them: the air is too clean for the Egypt of his birth, the color of the sun subtly wrong for the Abydos of his marriage. Sweat pours down his back, dampening the rough fabric of his handmade garments.

Around him, all is violent motion; his ears are filled with the soundtrack of war. Explosions, screams, staff blasts, glider engines overhead—it is the Goa'uld versus primitive Man, a scene he's become all too familiar with over the last nine years. Voices fade in like a badly dubbed movie: Jack, Sam, Teal'c, an army of Jaffa, a mob of slaves, his own voice screaming in three different languages. Not finding the words fast enough. Not moving fast enough, either.

The scents of blood and charred flesh fill his nostrils as a sudden impact knocks him to the sand. He remembers more, in those vague seconds before the pain hits him: Sam protesting days before that a premature move could contaminate the timeline, Jack cursing Ra's troops that morning as their secret meeting turned into an ambush. Then the too-familiar burn of a staff wound claims his attention, sending him spinning into the depths with dark thoughts of Janet, of Ra, and of sarcophagi.

The presence of death is the next thing he is aware of: the silence of death surrounding him, the scent of death overwhelming his senses, the press of corpses weighing him down. For a moment, he believes himself back with Teal'c and Bra'tac amidst the bodies of a slaughtered army of Free Jaffa, trying to keep them alive with only one symbiote between them-- but the sensations are too immediate, too corporeal for that. He is still in Egypt, and something else is wrong with that memory...

Comprehension filters in, colored slightly with fear. He has awakened from death before, often enough that it has lost the element of surprise, but never has it been like this. Never has he come back to himself alone, still lying where he had fallen. Nor has he ever remembered any event from his first Ascension so clearly. Something different has happened this time, and he is not sure he wants to know the cause. This is not his original body, after all; it is quite possible that the Others took the opportunity to meddle when they facilitated his return to the Tau'ri.

Warm fingers press against the back of his shoulder, then at his throat, distracting him from that alarming line of thought. An excited voice babbles in his ear in a dialect of ancient Egyptian: I have found Dan'yel, he is alive!

The weight shifts from his back, and his world spins as strong hands turn him over. Sand trickles down his collar, into his nostrils, and he coughs reflexively. "Jack..." he groans hoarsely, reaching automatically for his friend.

...He asks for Oneel, the voice above him says, in a more subdued tone of voice.

Daniel blinks open his eyes, alarm swirling through him. The mid-day sunlight blinds him immediately, and he raises a shaky hand against the onslaught. "Jack?" he asks again.

The sand shifts at his side; Katep kneels next to him and carries on a hurried conversation over his head. Daniel hears none of it beyond the first, chilling sentence: Oneel is dead...

He closes his eyes and sinks back into the sand.

* * *

Daniel woke with a gasp, heart racing from the intensity of the dream. If it could be called a dream. It felt more like a memory-- not his own, of course, but one which some other Daniel had lived.

It had seemed so simple when they'd found Ra's ZPM buried with a videotape detailing another SG-1's plan to travel through time to retrieve it. Too simple, in fact; the presence of the ZPM meant that the team had succeeded, but what had happened to them after that? Daniel admired Teal'c's steadfast belief that their reality, their timeline, was the only one that mattered, but this other SG-1 wasn't just any alternate team, it was _their_ team. Cast adrift through time-- in _their own timeline_-- five thousand years ago, but otherwise no different.

He could feel it, in the dreams; this wasn't the first time he'd seen through his other self's eyes, and that man's memories and emotions were so close to Daniel's own that they lingered with him after he woke, snarling and complicating his life at the Mountain. The first time he'd dreamed of the aftermath of the failed rebellion, huddling in a hastily erected tent with Katep and the other survivors, he'd awakened himself with a cry of grief and hadn't been able to relax until the next briefing up at the Mountain. Though he'd known intellectually that Jack, Sam and Teal'c were safe in this timeline, that they had not been captured and tortured by Ra while Daniel lay regenerating in the desert sands, some terrified, lonely part of him had not quite believed it until he'd seen them again.

His fluency in several ancient languages and dialects had improved notably in recent months, seemingly without effort or study; his skill with a sword had similarly skyrocketed, leading to much sarcastic commentary from Adam. The (much) older man had looked forward to playing the part of a teacher this time around, but so far Daniel had needed little more than a refresher course. He had no idea what was happening to him, save for a vague suspicion that Oma may have known him much longer than she'd ever let on; Adam had said he'd buried other-Daniel's body two thousand years ago, but where had his Quickening gone?

Sooner or later, he knew he'd have to tell Jack about what he knows, and what he suspects. The rest of the team has already noticed that something's going on, though they have no idea what. But Adam didn't trust Jack yet-- or more accurately, General O'Neill-- and Daniel didn't blame him. After all, the instant Jack found out about Daniel's past and present Immortality, he was likely to guess the truth about Adam, and a human who could live forever would be an extremely tempting target for unscrupulous agencies working for the same government Jack reported to.

It was going to take time. Months, maybe years; too long for Adam to keep staying with Daniel as an 'old friend from out of town'. Luckily, the Mountain was always in need of social scientists-- the backlog of work that piled up when Daniel was in the field was one of the banes of his existence-- and a linguist of Adam's caliber would be snapped up as quick as Daniel could recommend him. If he could just get Adam to sign the papers, he'd have a front-row seat to all the reasons Daniel couldn't just walk away from this life, and the caliber of people Daniel had backing him up.

It was going to take time. Fortunately, time was something Daniel now had to spend.

--


	3. Storm in a Bottle

**Title**: Storm in a Bottle 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: SG-1/Highlander. _Dan'yel of Abydos may have had Daniel's questing spirit, but he had quickly been forced to leave Daniel's compassionate heart far behind him_. 1700 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: Stargate SG-1 through 8.20 "Moebius, Part II"; Highlander in general.

**Notes**: Still not much Methos-- haven't had a chance to watch any Highlander DVDs yet-- but more background for Dan'yel of Abydos. A bit experimental for me; critique as freely as you please.

* * *

Not all of Daniel's dreams of ancient Egypt were as abrupt or painful as those that came to him first. Sometimes all he dreamed of were dim spans of time filled with the minutiae of daily living. They unspooled like old, faded motion pictures in his mind, filling in the background of a life that had spanned more than two thousand years. Very little of it surprised him; Dan'yel of Abydos may have lived a separate and very different life after his dislocation into the past, but he'd had Daniel's questing spirit and Daniel's experiences to build on.

Not all of his dreams were gently informative, bittersweet sections of tribal life, however. Some were immediate, full of hard, painful truths, and left him panting when he woke. Dan'yel of Abydos may have had Daniel's questing spirit, but he had quickly been forced to leave Daniel's compassionate heart far behind him.

* * *

_Long stretches of time fly past, filled with planning, hiding, caching, grieving, and living. Daniel is no stranger to loneliness, but the part of him that is still eight and wailing for his lost parents is closer to the surface than it has been for many years. Women approach him periodically, for a myriad of reasons, but he turns each one down, seeing Sha'uri in every dusky face._

_Even were his heart not so raw from his fresh losses, he does not dare risk leaving children behind to corrupt the timeline. The butterfly's wings might have already flapped, destroying his entire known future, but then again they might not, and risking everything just for a few moments of pleasure seems a lot like spitting in the eye of fate. Instead, Daniel perfects his recipe for moonshine, tipping a cup into the sand in memory of Skaara and Jack with every batch he makes._

_The camp fluctuates in size as the seasons pass. Rumors of a rebel force attract others fleeing slavery, but also bring Jaffa determined to lethally enforce Ra's reign. Daniel keeps the rebellion more-or-less together through a series of skirmishes, retreats, and relocations, doing his best to recall tactics absorbed over years of following Jack, Teal'c, and Sam. It is nothing, and everything, like Abydos; he is teacher again and sage, but also military advisor and half of the governing council, and these may have become his people but they will never be his family._

_He does not journal any more; his pencils and paper are long gone, and what would he write, anyway? The strictures of timeline preservation prevent him from recording the truth, and there are others already setting down the events of the rebellion for posterity. Among the camp's scholars is a young man, incongruously European of feature, who is very good at the job; Daniel sneezes every time they meet for some unfathomable reason, but speaks with him frequently enough to keep his languages in practice. Methos reminds him of the man he used to be, before alien pyramids and military projects had rewritten his destiny._

_Two years pass before Daniel meets another who sparks an allergic reaction; a vague pressure in Daniel's sinuses is followed by a fit of sneezing, leaving Katep to apologize and greet the new refugee in both of their names. The man does not bother to return the favor; as his eyes light on Daniel, he shouts "**There can be only one!"** and draws a sword from beneath his robes._

_Fortunately, Daniel has long since given up going unarmed. Jack had begun the lesson, but life in a bronze age culture on the constant verge of war has greatly reinforced it. He, too, is carrying a sword, and hastily draws it in self-defense._

_Most of Daniel's experience at swordfighting is a left-over from his college days, when he'd spent the occasional weekend as a herald and fighter in the Society for Creative Anachronism. Rattan weaponry does not have the same heft as the blade he wields now, however, and he has not practiced enough with the bronze sword to adjust to the difference; he is more used to wielding a staff or zat'ni'katel in actual battle. Fortunately, his opponent seems fairly unskilled; the man had probably not expected Daniel to have the chance to defend himself._

_He and his attacker each collect several shallow cuts in the first few exchanges, minor wounds which magically sew themselves shut in tiny electrical spasms. Daniel has seen this in himself before, a near-instantaneous healing effect that leaves no scars behind, but this is the first time he has seen it at work in someone else. Either the Others have been very busy-- a notion that seems highly unlikely, given their hands-off policies-- or something else is at work here._

_Sweat stings in Daniel's eyes, and muscles he hasn't truly stretched since his last hand-to-hand practice with Teal'c protest the strenuous exercise. He stumbles backward over a rug, nearly losing a hand as he flails for balance and comes within reach of the enemy's sword, and he wonders uneasily if the healing ability can regrow an unattached limb. It seems unlikely, but he has, after all, healed from worse: it is the most likely explanation for his revival after being struck by a staff blast in the failed rebellion._

_The attacker swings clumsily at Daniel's neck, avoiding easier targets, and wondering shifts into suspicion. Beheading certainly would put an end to just about anything, including a Goa'uld, even one with access to a sarcophagus. With the seat of the mind separated from all means of life support, surely not even the strange healing energy could put a man back together._

_**"My head is not yours to take,"** Daniel exclaims, breathing heavily._

_Katep makes a distressed noise from his place on the floor-- the newcomer had shoved him aside with the first lunge, and he'd fallen heavily. Daniel spares half a glance for his friend, then staggers backward again as the swordsman tries to take advantage of his distraction. A line of hot pain wells up along his side and he snarls in anger. He knows he won't win this by overthinking; he embraces the emotion, reaches for the furious focus he's so often employed against the Goa'uld._

_Jack had called this state of mind 'snake-baiting' and deplored it, never mind that he'd succumbed to it himself a few times. Daniel isn't naive; he knows only too well where it could lead. He'll never forget the dream Shifu had sent him. Even so, it was just a tool like any other; it was the intent of the action that gave it moral weight and meaning. In this case, defense of self and tribe come above all else._

_The nameless man parries wildly, trying to fend off Daniel's renewed attack, but it seems to be becoming clear to him that he has reached beyond his grasp. His eyes widen in fear as Daniel pierces his block to slice knee, thigh, and forearm, and he begins to babble fearfully in a dialect Daniel hasn't learned yet._

_The former archaeologist neither cares, nor hesitates; caught in the driving, implacable grip of cold rage, Daniel divests the man of wrist, sword, and head in short order. The meaty thunk of blade passing through flesh and bone resonates queasily in his stomach; he takes a step back as the body collapses, telling himself that this is no different from the Goa'uld and Jaffa he has slaughtered in the name of war._

_But of course it is different, and in more ways than the personal nature of the battle he has just fought: an electric mist is rising from the stump of the man's neck, spreading and reaching, lifting the hairs on the back of his arms. Daniel drops his sword and whirls for the opening of the tent, yelling at Katep as his feet dig into the rug, one step away becoming two and then three. A nameless fear drives him, much as his anger did earlier._

_There is no more time. A bolt of lightning stabs free of the cloud, reaching out to lick at Daniel's back; he screams as the energy rips through him, then falls to his knees as the lightshow continues. The air inside the tent fills with the scents of ozone and scorched canvas, but Daniel barely notices, caught up in series of foreign images crashing through his mind._

_**"They call this a Game?"** he gasps, horrified, when the storm-in-a-bottle finally winds to a close. He is still kneeling, but the tent has caught fire and collapsed around him; there are voices to his left where the entrance was, where Katep had been sprawled when all Hell broke loose._

_One of the voices sounds like Methos. Methos, to whom he is allergic; Methos, who must be like he is, like the attacker -- Iabi?-- whose soul had carried several others--_

_**"I am legion,"** Daniel whispers, aghast, and shudders. He walls away as many of the foreign memories as he can, almost by instinct; it has not been that long since his mental war with Replicator Carter, and he has not forgotten the techniques he used to plunder useful knowledge from her while holding the rest apart._

_He's going to have to have a long talk with Methos soon-- and find a better sword._

_In the midst of his concentration, he hardly notices the blackness creeping in around the edges of his vision. It is not until he notices the chill and tingling in his extremities that he realizes the implications of the sword slash he received earlier. He touches his side clumsily, grimacing at the pain and the slick, warm wetness against his skin; the wound is wide and deep, and he has probably lost far too much blood for the Immortal healing talent to save him before he dies._

_Daniel can only hope that Katep does not unearth him before he revives. He might have become used to the impermanence of death, but this is unusual even for him, and his mind is full of legends of how primitive cultures treat anyone tainted with the supernatural._

_Sensory images of fire follow him down into the darkness, remnants of Iabi's last memories of his people._

--


End file.
